


Because You Need Me

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg had been promising himself for ages that one of these days he would take some time off, lay in some good food and drink, lock the door, switch off his phones and do nothing but sit and read. </p><p>OK, this wasn't <i>quite</i> like Greg's dream - but at least he was getting through the books...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because You Need Me

**Author's Note:**

> As shippy as you'd like it to be (or not).
> 
> Written for [notluvulongtime](http://notluvulongtime.tumblr.com), [loryisunabletosupinate](http://loryisunabletosupinate.tumblr.com) and the other lovely people who recently participated in the Sherstrade lovefest on the latest Three Patch Podcast...

There was a pile of unread books by his bedside. Greg had been promising himself for ages that one of these days he would take some time off, lay in some good food and drink, lock the door, switch off his phones and do nothing but sit and read.

He glanced up from the novel he was currently half-way through to where the young man was pacing back and forth across the dingy bedsit room, his arms wrapped tightly across his stomach and the occasional shiver wracking his long lean frame.

OK, it wasn't _quite_ like Greg's dream, but apart from the location, the company, the food and drink, and the fact his literary throne wasn't his own comfy leather sofa but a ratty old beige velour monstrosity with dodgy springs, it wasn't _that_ far off.

At least he was getting through the books.

"Why don't you sit down, Sherlock? You'll wear a hole in the floor."

The glare that earned him could have peeled the paint off the walls - if there was any - so he went back to his book, expecting the pacing to resume. However, a few seconds later there was a groan of bedsprings and when he looked up again Sherlock was sitting in the middle of the bed with his back to the wall, hugging his knees which were tucked up under his chin.

Sherlock didn't - couldn't - stay still for long and started rocking to and fro, muttering under his breath. The gentle rhythmic creaking his movement produced from the furniture put Greg in mind of a rocking chair his grandmother had owned. It was almost soothing.

He settled back in his chair and turned the page.

The creaking and the muttering continued and faded into the background as the plot of Greg's novel picked up. This was what he'd been missing - taking the time to really get lost in a good book.

He was so engrossed that when the noise stopped it took him a few paragraphs to notice how quiet it had become. He slowly lifted his eyes from the page; something told him any sudden actions at this point might not be wise.

Sherlock was sitting perfectly still. His eyes were bright and feverish and fixed on a point several miles away. The only movement was that of a single bead of sweat that meandered down the side of his head and joined countless others in the dampness of the collar of Sherlock's t-shirt.

Sherlock stared and shivered and sweated… then turned his head to the side and started violently banging it against the wall.

Greg leaped out of his chair and grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders, pulling him away from the wall and wrapping his arms around him as he sat down beside him. "Sherlock. Stop."

Sherlock looked up him with huge eyes. "I can't, Lestrade. I can't stop it. I can't. There's no off switch. The drugs are the only thing that helps. Can't you see that? The drugs and the work - and there's never enough work and now there's none of either because you won't give me any drugs and you won't give me any work because of the drugs and unless I don't want the drugs anymore I can't have any work but I want the drugs _because_ there's not enough work and..."

Greg put his hand over Sherlock's mouth. "Stop. Just stop."

Sherlock dragged his hand away. He looked lost and confused and so young and yet so world-weary at the same time. "Why are you even here?" he asked.

Greg pushed the lank, sweat-matted hair from Sherlock's forehead and explained softly but deliberately, "I'm here because you need me."

Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head fall against Greg's chest as he finally relaxed into his embrace. "Yes, I do. God help me."


End file.
